


Move Objects

by frangipani



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, PWP, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Slice of Life, Suspension, boring married feelings, date night for my faves, graphic depictions of ropework, mara's complicated relationship to power what the fuck else, master luke skywalker is frangi's favorite luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/pseuds/frangipani
Summary: The seers of Tython knew the energy field as the Ashla, but understood it as we do, as a source of wisdom, a regenerative pool from which to draw strength, and a way to move objects without touching them.Spoiler alert: includes a lot of touching.





	Move Objects

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this maybe a year or so ago, and being on a time crunch and unable to finish anything new, I dusted it out and had [strangeallure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure) run it through the ringer. Thank you for putting up with my whining, bitching and general gracelessness as a betaee so I could get that much needed Finished Fic Feeling.

Luke gives another scan of the small studio. It'd seemed fine when he'd first saw it, but the more minutes pass, the more utilitarian it looks. Impersonal. Back in Ossus, they'd had a separate alcove for this, a spare room without furniture that still managed to feel like part of their home. This small studio feels nothing like that, but their apartment here is much smaller, and their quarters at the academy space will probably be a glorified closet. He'd had no choice. His eyes linger on the duffel bag he'd brought.

Mara had seemed enthusiastic at the prospect, but she'd been so busy as of late, not just with the move, but also with the reflection Council members were tasked with writing annually. He'd gotten his out of the way earlier in the year, but Ben had a rough start of it, going from cold to cold, which meant her research and drafting had taken her much longer. She'd just sent it to Cilghal and Saba for feedback, which meant she was done, sort of, but she might be too tired for what he had in mind. Perhaps he should have gone with something less involved. He'd even left her a dress, he thinks with some dismay. If she showed up without it, he'd definitely scale back.

He senses her near a few seconds before the inner door hisses open and turns.

Mara is wearing the dress he’d left her. 

Luke can't help the smile that breaks across his face, his doubts vanishing. It's a deep maroon color with a high neckline, but leaves her shoulders bare. Luke didn’t chose it for how it looks, although he supposes it’s a pretty enough dress. It looks even better on his wife, but that’s par for the course. She looks lovely even in those Jedi robes she avoids wearing, the ones she claims make her stand out more than a wampa scaling a sand dune. He wishes she'd wear those more, actually. These days Mara doesn't need the element of surprise to be brutally effective in a variety of contexts.

At his regard, Mara arches a coy eyebrow, green eyes bright even in the dim light of the studio. The darkened transparisteel keeps the unceasing lights of Coruscant's space traffic at bay, creating a space that feels surprisingly serene. Anticipation flares within him. They might be able to do this more often now that they’re back on Coruscant. 

She’s already taken her shoes off, but stays standing where she is, feeling out the situation, deciding how she will play it.

The appraising quality of her sense fades before long. She’s come to her decision. Luke approaches her then, slides a hand up her cheek, tangling his fingers in her hair, and kisses her fiercely. This is the place for it. It’s as a experiment of sorts as well. 

Through their bond, he feels her surprise at the suddenness, a welcoming ripple of pleasure, eagerness that would be suited to action, but at the last minute is smoothed out. That’s a cue. He’d suspected, based on the fact that she's wearing the dress, but this is confirmation. 

Luke breaks away to look at her again, lets his hand slide down her jaw. She turns her head slightly, eyes on him as she bares her neck, the gesture itself so fragile and beautiful, he has to kiss her again. But he does glide his hand down slowly past her collarbone, over her breast, to her waist where he leaves it, curving his palm along her side as if to clasp it.

Her breathing is a bit faster when he pulls away this time. 

“You got here just in time.” He prefers to fill the silences between them. She doesn’t. He knows well enough to stay away from the sort of things that would mar the atmosphere, but he has no attachment to silence; he’s not saying anything important anyway.

Mara on the other hand, appreciates all the formal trappings of ritual. He could choose to give her silence. He has in the past, just not tonight.

“The dress looks beautiful on you.” He moves behind her, not expecting a reply. Flattery might be a cliche she's probably rolling her eyes at, but it's true nonetheless. He sweeps her hair from her nape to reveal the intricate hooks and lacings of the dress. This is the type of dress that is extremely difficult to put on. He smiles a little; she’ll scold him for taking it off so quickly, but he’ll make it worth her while. Besides, it’s not that easy to take off either, which is, after all, why he chose it.

He ducks his head where the fabric curls around her throat, to where her left shoulder and neck meet and brushes a kiss there, over the thin fabric. She lets out a soft sigh and he moves up, presses his lips at the skin just under her jaw as he slowly draws his other hand down over her right shoulder down to her lower back and over the curve of her bottom, heat blooming not just at the touch, but at the luxury of drawing it out.

The dress is short, maybe five inches above her knee, close-fitting instead of flowing. He can simply move his hand up between her legs --

He stifles his own gasp and chuckles a little. No underwear. The excitement of his discovery anchors itself at the base of his cock.

“That must have been an interesting speeder drive over,” he says, stroking past the soft curls across her folds, hearing her breath catch. 

There’s a flicker of humor mixed with annoyance. Something happened on the way over but it's minor. He’ll ask her about it once they’re done. For now, it’s more relevant that she’s wet with anticipation. He noses behind her ear, breathing in the perfume she applied there, as his fingers circle her clit. She moans softly -- it’s the first real sound she’s made, thin like an overture. 

Luke slides his head down her neck, Mara’s pulse fluttering under his lips, hips rolling into his touch. Release isn’t the ultimate goal here. His fingers seek the heat of her, her hips arching back to the thrusts of his hand. For either of them. They could have stayed home for that.

He pulls his hand from her, hearing her shuddery indrawn breath as he does.

“Knees.”

She goes down on all fours, legs spread. The dress is still a respectable length enough that the apex between her thighs isn’t quite visible. There might be the most tantalizing suggestion.

“Bend forward. Extend the arms. Forehead on the mat.”

It’s not too different, he supposes, from the type of instructions he’d given some of the first apprentices, without, of course, the frisson of desire. Mara however, hadn’t been part of that group, and by the time Nirauan happened, she’d been past this sort of exercise. It'd been years since he'd guided students through that sort of basic body work, too. There’d been no overlap. 

It wasn’t until relatively recently -- perhaps a year or so, that Mara had suggested bringing this kind of exercise here. She hadn’t explained, but it was obvious that she’d regarded it to have a tinge of taboo. For all her love of ritual and routine, Luke has discovered that his wife’s irreverent streak can be more pronounced than his. 

Her back bows as she straightens her arms in front of her with an exhale, her hair bright as it falls over them. He falls to his knees and strokes from the back of her head down to nape, her head lolling to the side with a sigh when he combs his fingers through her hair. He traces the arch in her spine to the lush curve of her bottom, passes his hands along her sides, then up her hips through the dress. Moments like this he can almost forget how impatient she used to be, as if pleasure was something that would slip through her hands. Some of it had been the shortage of time, but not all.

She gasps lightly when he trails two fingers along her inner thigh, a smooth caress up and down that has her shifting her hips, spreading her legs more in an invitation he doesn’t answer -- not yet.

He could tap on the bond to sense what this does for her, but it’s unnecessary; he can smell her arousal and that’s visceral, much more immediate. Luke sweeps his hands over the arch of her back, slides it down her hip again. She squirms a little.

He misses her voice -- it's a strange thing. He can draw out a moan or a sigh from her, but he's found it's not the same. Mara runs counter to him in this, but they’ve found a way to compromise, a way he can hear her without her having to make up empty words. She can borrow them.

”What is it tonight?” They’ve done this enough she knows what he’s prompting for.

“They--they heard the Force’s call,” she begins, almost breathless. So she’s selected the opening to the History of the Jedi Order. She knows it extremely well -- all Jedi do, thanks to Tionne. In Ossus, their apprentices, from initiates to those about to set off for their trials, are made to recite it along with the Code every morning. This is something they’ll probably put into practice in Coruscant too when the academy here formally opens. At this point, it’s so familiar, recitation isn’t going to require her focus. It won't distract him either; all he'll be hearing is the sound of her voice, the words fading into background noise as they have every morning on the grounds.

It hasn't always been this sort of text. Mara’s taken to this as if were a challenge, or at times, a tease, reciting the business headlines of the Trading Times, translations of Ithorian landscape poems, the ingredients of a sundry of desserts, fully pushing the ability of words to become sounds.

Once she'd recited an explicit letter to a pornographic holozine she'd memorized in its entirety for the occasion.

_That_ had been as distracting as she'd intended.

“...from the deep core world of Tython,” she sighs as he pushes the fabric of the dress up to her hips. “The seers of Tython...” She breaks off with a moan as he eases two fingers into her, pushing back for friction. His own arousal climbs steadily, the yearning for her shadowed only by the pleasure of knowing he can have her, that it’s only a question of when.

There are times when Mara is not playful at all, when she wants to empty herself out. The last time she was after that, she chose a dense treatise on the nature of time, struggled to divide her concentration until she no longer could, overwhelmed. It’s a sign she’s in a combative mood, putting in enough resistance so as to be forced to bend, as if she were elsewhere and wanted to be brought back home.

That’s not today.

“Knew the...” Mara’s breaths come faster as his thumb finds her clit. “En--nergy...field.” He strokes across it as his fingers delve inside, building a rhythm. “As the Ashla.” It’s not long before her back arches up in tension and she moans, a louder, deeper sound that makes him press up against her bottom, almost by instinct. He’s still fully dressed and it only heightens the frustration.

He eases up the slide of his fingers and she continues, panting, “but understood it....a-ah-as we do...” Her inner muscles squeeze around his fingers, and there’s already a slight delicious quiver to her body.

“As ah a--” she moans her disappointment once he withdraws, but continues, “a source of wisdom.” 

His frustration has reached a tipping point and he unzips himself, lowering his trousers and underwear quickly. The intensity of wanting her, being this close to having her has the same impact no matter when or where they couple. The feeling is heady enough that he lingers in it further, rubbing his cock along her slick folds, a hand on her bottom, thumb teasing between her ass cheeks, drawing out another whimpered moan. His own breathing echoes in his ears. 

Mara takes a deep breath and continues, “A regen--”

She breaks off with another indrawn breath when he reaches over and squeezes her breast through the cloth of the dress.

“Re-gen-erative. Pool.”

He slides in slowly, and she whines, pushing back instinctively. It has taken them both a while to understand this not as an endpoint, but as a beginning as far as evenings like this are concerned.

Mara manages to get a few more words out as he rocks into her, “from which to draw...strength--” 

A ragged moan mars the rest of the sentence as her tension continues to build. Luke returns his hand between her legs as a steady caress above where they’re joined, but doesn’t linger. He'd like to draw things out for her. 

“A way -- a way to -- to move...objects...” 

He’d like more focus for himself, so Luke grasps her hips and finds his release in a few hard thrusts.

She’s still breathing heavily when he withdraws, and he presses a kiss to her nape before going to clean himself with a washcloth. She means to get up, brings a hand between her legs and he sends a clear negative through their bond.

It’s not boldness, she may have picked up on him thinking that release isn’t the point. There’s a spark of curiosity that she subdues quickly as she ceases her efforts. Her tendency leans to movement, but she’s gotten used to tranquility over time. Luke tucks himself back in, fixes his clothing, grabs another washcloth, and returns to where she is. Mara remains bent forward, her spine knotted with tension, a keen edge in her sense, even if there’s a pleased note woven in. He wipes the stickiness off her thighs.

“Not the most conventional order of things, but I’m going to get this off you now.” Luke slides his hand up her hip, underneath the bunched fabric of her dress.

Mara finds that an appealing idea, that note of pleasure intensifying, longing he'd normally respond to with a kiss. Unspent desire coils just under her skin, and he’d have answered that too as a matter of course if it'd been any other time.

But he brings his focus elsewhere, going through the complex hooks and back lacings of her dress instead. There’s absolutely no obstacle, nothing distracting him as he carefully unties knots, gently tugging on delicate ribbons until they loosen, bringing more of Mara’s back into view.The more complicated the clothing, the more care it takes to undo, the more satisfying it is, and Mara, for all her bluster, likes this too. It's new; he’d never thought himself the type. Maybe it’s age. The last knot undone, the bodice slides down her waist, revealing her naked back.

Luke trails his fingers down her shoulders, traces the ridge of her spine, the sharp lines of her shoulder blades, all of it on display like a pearl. 

“I never forget that you’re beautiful,” he finds himself saying, moved by the play of light across her skin, illuminating the faint scars here and there, a couple from before -- a blaster burn untreated when she'd been on the run, slight discoloration from a procedure she’d gone through after a bad fall as a girl. The remaining few he'd seen happen. He traces the slight roughness of the burn scar with his forefinger. He wouldn't have chosen this life for her, but she did and does choose it for herself. Over and over.

He finds his voice again. “But I like to be reminded.” In their daily lives, the flood of responsibilities stakes claim on them both. It’s a welcome respite to strip themselves down to this fundamental connection, see the different permutations it can take. Mara's been thinking a lot of bodies as bridges these days; he can’t but think that it's rather apt.

“I like wanting you,” he muses. It might be an odd thing to say. 

Mara's presence blooms, the resonance of it a powerful wave. She breathes in, through the bond he feels the surge of emotion. Being as close as they are makes restraint difficult. Mara summons it now, a reflex, but that’s a different tendency from what they practice here. It's a simple thing to reach within her, find the control under her restraint and push it aside, like removing a deadbolt from a door, letting it open.

A soft, grunt falls from Mara’s lips, and her response is immediate: fight or flight, resistance. Her breathing quickens, and he feels a different tension seep into in her lower back as he continues his caress from her shoulder blades down her spine.

“Okay?” Luke murmurs. This deep in her mind, the impulse is pure instinct. 

It signals they’ve progressed to the next part of the evening. He withdraws from her mind, letting her adjust. Even with their bond in place this is different. The bond is a two-way channel, and what he's touched upon goes beyond that. The first time is always the most uncomfortable. He keeps stroking her back until he feels her tension drain. Once she breathes out, dispelling the last of it, he says, “On your back.”

Mara shifts to lie on her back and he pulls the dress down by its bodice. She pushes her hips up, and he gets it off her entirely, tosses it off to the side, leaving her completely bare.

Luke meets her eyes. They're clear. He cups the side of her face. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes, her breathing still quick. It’s hard to tell if it’s from arousal or a shock of adrenaline. Things tend to get confused. She has hinted more than once that he might be too cautious, but these are delicate matters. 

So he keeps their bond at a distance as he turns his focus back on her exposed skin, skidding his fingertips down her neck, tracing her collarbone with the pad of his thumb. He wants to kiss her too, would like to see her spend herself of all that desire, but it’s better to wait. Let it build.

Which is not to say he can’t indulge. He’s kneeling over her, so all he needs to do is bend down to brush kisses just under the hollow of her throat, press open mouthed kisses down her breast. When Mara folds her arms around him, he looks up with a smile and shakes his head. Reluctantly, she draws away. This is the direction she’d decided on, he’ll keep her on it. 

Luke trails kisses around her navel, feeling the flutter of muscles under his lips as she gasps. Then he pulls away, digs his hands into her silky hair and hauls her towards him to kiss her like she’d wanted, deep and slow. Her sense flares, and she lifts a hand to his cheek. With his own hand Luke takes hers and pushes it back down to the mat as he swallows her moan in a deeper kiss. His pulse is rushing like hers is when he pulls away. Another kiss, then he forces himself to head towards his things without looking back, keeping himself trained on her sense, a flutter to it that is stunning. He’s after _that _.__

Because Mara likes starts and stops. Surprises, within bounds. Here. With him.

Her eyes light up at the coiled rope in his hands, when he returns. She sits up quickly, half turns towards him, and he could tease her a little, but decides against it.

“You noticed the beam?” He gestures up to the durasteel rigging beam that runs across the ceiling a few feet above them. “I thought we could try that tonight.” 

With a smile, Mara pulls her arms back settling her wrists atop each other. 

__“Start over,” Luke says, referring to her recitation, and scoots behind her, looping the tie that binds her wrists. He checks the slack carefully and adds a second knot before running the rope up diagonally from her wrists to precisely a few inches below her shoulder, mentally tracing the path of nerves beneath her skin. The human body is fragile. Her weight putting pressure on the rope could damage her radial nerve if he so much as shifted millimeters from the ideal position of the binding. When they’d first started working with rope, much of their time was spent relearning her body for this. It’s ingrained knowledge by now, care he can deliver with certain ease.__

__Luke winds the rope around her chest, a few inches under her collarbone, dropping his head by her neck. It’s a kind of embrace then as he inhales her scent, a faint note of woodsiness that never fails to remind him of Yavin 4 for some reason. He’s never been able to figure out why; they’d barely even known each other then._  
_

Her voice comes out in a torrent, all of that eagerness filling the words, “They heard the Force’s call from the deep core world of Tython. The seers of Tython knew the energy field--” 

__”No, don’t rush it,” he murmurs against her skin, feeling her shiver as he makes the second wrap just under the first. Tying a chest harness has become a simple enough exercise, a familiar sequence of motions by now that he no longer needs to turn her body around or shift from where he is behind her to complete it. “Start over.”_ _

She takes a deep breath. A beat. “They heard the Force’s call from the deep core world of Tython.” 

He ducks the end of the rope under the diagonal offshoot from the stem, cups her wrists as he tugs on the rope until it is straight and tighter across her back. It forms the requisite "T" shape, the knot over her wrists lies in a straight line down from the ropes that loop around her upper torso just below her shoulder. He brings the working end of the rope around the stem a few times to compress the frictions that will secure her. 

__“The seers of Tython knew the energy field as the Ashla...”_ _

__Luke repeats the same movement with the other side, bringing his arm around her, settling the bindings in a firm tug that makes her gasp._ _

__“...but understood it as we do...”_ _

__He tucks the working end into the bindings that run close to her under arm and checks the rope around her chest for give, sliding one finger between her skin and the rope. Her chest falls as she releases another breath, slower now, sinking into the sensations, the proximity that comes with the binding. That and the tactility, the drag of the rope, the graze of his hands on her skin as he wraps it around her and checks the tension. When they’d started doing this, she confessed to thinking it too indulgent. But that had been the point. These days the mere brush of the rope against her arms, waist, or legs will have her dripping wet.__

 _ _Mara grunts when Luke pulls against the bindings, tightening them on one side. She exhales as he releases the tensions in the rope. He does the same on the other side, using his forefinger and thumb to adjust, centralizing the knot again, making sure the wrap is snug, but not excessively tight. She now has four bands that wind across her shoulders. He’ll need more rope for the second set of wraps._ _

__She whispers, “...as a..source of wisdom....”_ _

__The give of her body now belies that she's flaming with arousal. Her mind is running over a recollection of the last time when he’d bound her lower legs to her thighs, settling between them and lapping as if she were melting ice and he were parched._ _

__“...a...a regenerative pool from which...”_ _

__Luke furrows his brow at the image. “You’re nothing like ice.”_ _

__Still behind her, he snakes hand across her hip down to her drenched curls, cupping her, making her hiss out her breath, her hips grinding into his palm. As long as he’s there...he thinks, sliding two fingers into her, to feel her clench, hot and wet around him. Her hips shove forward as she throws her head back against his shoulder with a loud groan and arches tight. Arresting, but he’s not even done with the harness yet, so he withdraws to her shallow breaths, sucking his fingers clean then wiping them on the nearby washcloth._ _

__“...from which...,” he prompts, trying to bring her back, his hands back on the rope._ _

__Mara shifts slightly, squaring her shoulders. What he’s asking from her is not to push her impulses back, it’s to dwell in wanting, “...from which to draw strength...”_ _

__A different sort of suspension. Luke goes back to the rope, grabs the second set, ties it to the stem, and pulls it under her left arm, hikes it behind and over the front binding, his arm wrapping around her to do so. She squirms as his head lowers to her neck and he can’t resist pressing a kiss against her rapid-beating pulse._ _

__“...and a way to move...objects...without touching...them.”_ _

__He returns the rope back between the arm and torso, and adds more rope before slipping it under the central knot behind her and over her wrists. He brings his arm over her front again, feeling the quick rise and fall of her chest as he grabs the rope that he's pulled under her arm. He draws it behind and over the front binding on the right side for the second cinch._ _

__“Yet those--”_ _

__“Stop.” He pulls the rope back to go around the stem where the central knot is, uses his index finger to pull the working end out. “Start over.” He loops it about three fingers below the binding around her upper arm._ _

__She pauses. "They heard the Force’s call from the deep core world of Tython.”_ _

__Luke brings his arm over her as he drags the rope under her breasts, puts an arm on her shoulder to pull it snug as he does, making her inhale sharply yet again. The rope goes back under the stem and he drags it under on the other side, loops it around the other shoulder, her skin feverish hot under his hands._ _

__“The...seers of Tython...knew the...energy field as the Ashla...”_ _

__Luke reverses the rope and brings it behind and over the last wrap on the back. He pulls it back under the last wrap on the opposite side and under the stem at her back._ _

___“...but understood it as we do...”_ _ _

__

__

__Running the rope left, he slides it under and pulls it over the lower binding, then to the rear and under the stem again, repeats the motion on the other side to complete the cinches. He completes the final cinch in the back and draws a finger between her skin and the rope, checking the tension in the set of four upper and lower bindings. Mara's breath hitches yet again at the graze of his finger in the middle of the rope and the underside of her breasts as he makes sure the bindings are flat and even. These would distribute the tension, prevent the rope from cutting into her skin.__

 _ _“...as a source of wisdom...”_ _

__He stands up and looks at the harness from the front. The black of the rope stands out against her skin, the compression of it under the four bindings highlights her breasts, pushing them out as her chest heaves. She looks up at him, cheeks rosy, an intoxicated gleam in her eyes. He crouches before her and cups her face, drops his hand to reach out and curve a hand over her left breast, passing the pad of his thumb over the hardened nipple._ _

__She closes her eyes and hisses out, “...a regenerative pool...”_ _

__Luke slides his eyes up to meet hers and leans forward to kiss her again, feels her gasp against his mouth as he kneads her breast, and they’re on the mats. She might have fallen back onto the mat on purpose. He wouldn’t put it past her, because suddenly his body is covering hers and then they’re both devouring each other with kisses, his hands roaming down to the dip of her waist. He runs his lips along her neck, her chest, nips at the undercurve of her breasts while she twists and whimpers. His hands cup her backside and pull her flush against him, his clothing in the way._ _

__He catches himself and draws away reluctantly after pressing a last kiss to her lips -- sometimes he doesn’t find the presence of mind to withdraw, and they get derailed. It's a danger with these things. But it’s been a while since they’ve had a free night what with the move and everything; he wants to see the evening through. Luke pulls her up, brushing his lips by her temple. Her skin glimmers, the faint salt of it still on his tongue._ _

__“Start over,” he whispers._ _

Mara breathes in. Her voice is quiet but strained as he makes himself release her and go back to the rope he brought for more, ignoring the ache in his cock. It’s not usually like this, not at home, they’ve been past the age of desperation for some time, after all -- had been already when they first married -- but something about this space amplifies a primal pull between them. It could be a side effect from the bond, or how deeply he reaches into her, or the intimacy of the rope. Could be all of those at once. Neither of them know for sure. It's not the kind of thing you can compare notes about with others. 

“They heard the Force’s call from the deep core world of Tython.” She repeats the line, and Luke thinks she lost her place, but then she does it several times more, and he pauses to glance over. The sight of her, sitting naked on the mats, that flush spreading up her torso, her breasts pushed out by the harness tugs low at his groin. 

__Her eyes fall to the bulge of his cock as he brings the extra rope back. He bends to cup her cheek, but she turns her face, brushes her lips against his fingers and goes up on her knees. Oh._ _

__Mara stops and waits._ _

__Luke turns the offer over in his head. Release isn’t the main point of this, and he can wait, but there is something to Mara’s cues, the open invitation of her stare. She flicks her tongue out lightly against the pad of his index finger, eyes trailing up to his._ _

__He works the fastenings of his pants._ _

__She swallows him down without any teasing. Her mouth is on him, sudden heat and pressure that elicits a groan. His fingers knot in her hair as his hips shift forward, and she accommodates with suction and the stroke of her tongue. He’s been burning for her since he first allowed them an interruption, so he gives in to sensation, the roar of his blood in his ears, watching as her head bobs on his length, her movements so enthusiastic that the bindings make her teeter, but she corrects with a shift of her knees, spreading her legs wider._ _

__All that excitement brings a maddening edge to his arousal, and he brings his hands to either side of her face, his thumbs pressing where her cheeks hollow. He has yet to shake the second’s pause before he thrusts in even deeper, rougher, eyes on her all the while. A wanton greed sparks in her gaze, but it's that low moan reverberating from low in her throat as Mara takes his thrusts that makes his climax tumble through him, spilling inside of her mouth, trickling from the corner of her lips, some of it dripping across her collarbone._ _

__Luke steps away from her after, bends to wipe at the side of her reddened mouth with his hand. Kisses her hard on second thought, his hands mapping caresses from her shoulders to her hips until she’s arching, panting for breath. He strokes her hair away from her face, feeling the insistence of her arousal through their bond, but he’s loathe to derail them any longer. With one final kiss, he adjusts his clothes and gets another washcloth to clean her more thoroughly._ _

__“Go on,” he says after he's done, and wraps an arm around her waist to help her stand._ _

__Mara pouts a little, a tease, and he smiles, pulling away to grab another section of rope. He hooks that to the right side of the upper and lower chest wraps in a reclined “y” shape with several knots the tail of it. He loops the tail of that rope on the beam, maybe a good three feet above his head._ _

__“The seers of Tython knew the energy field as the Ashla.” Mara’s voice is husky now, heavy, even the cadence of it is enticing, promising a different sort of pleasure. It should be counterintuitive now that he’s found release twice, but he doesn’t feel settled at all. He might not feel the physical pull of his frustrated desire, but he feels Mara’s, an unevenness that trails restlessness._ _

__It takes a bit more effort to focus on the working part of the rope. Luke sets to the task and makes another tie on the reclined “y,” returning it up to the beam too. Forcibly curbing his antsiness, he makes himself double check all the knots, and completes several more a few inches below the beam with care not to stretch the rope too much. He checks those several times as well._ _

__“...but understood it as we do...”_ _

__Luke pulls on the excess of the rope, crouching to wrap it several times above Mara’s right knee, the binding about three inches thick._ _

__“...as a source of wisdom...”_ _

__Everything about her is distracting when she’s in this heightened state of arousal. He pauses just enough to nuzzle at the skin just above the bindings, to stare up at her damp curls. She knows full well what she’s doing when she spreads her legs enough to afford him a view of glistening skin._ _

The image alone would be enticing, but her scent brings on more sense impressions: crashing waves, the slap of rain against stone, taking him away for an instant. Mara is looking down at him when he comes back to himself, a knowing smile on her face. He’s reminded that she thinks the association with the first academy is about more, the beginning of things, about possibilities. There is something to that, he supposes, in the wealth of what he feels through her, what she makes him feel. 

__“Start over,” he says._ _

__“They heard--” Mara breaks off with a gasp when he presses a kiss to her thigh just above the bindings and finishes the tie, pulling the rope over the beam again, this time hooking two fingers of his other hand on the rope binding the leg._ _

__“They heard the Force’s call from the deep core world of Tython.”_ _

__Luke keeps a hand on the tense rope and pulls, gently lifting Mara’s leg further._ _

__“The seers--” When he steps in close, she seems to lose her place. Her raised leg is by his hip, her head by his shoulder. He wraps his free arm around her waist._ _

__“The seers--” Mara begins again as he pulls her body to the side, and firmly lifts the leg up more so it stands horizontal to the floor. Her body is now reclined, held up by the leg binding and the chest bindings, her other leg loose below. Slowly, carefully, Luke lets go of her waist. The bindings will carry her weight. A quote from the architecture holodocs Mara had been studying comes to mind. Pamarthians had built bridges to connect the island villages of their largely aquatic world out of dense, complicated ropes. “The rope is an extension of the hand,” the old master builders were thought to have said. To pass through a bridge is to trust the rope, trust the hand that secured it._ _

__“The seers of Tython knew the energy field as the Ashla.” Her voice is scratchier now. She’s probably slightly disoriented by being held up only by the bindings, her unbound leg now two feet above the ground. Mara holds it in a mirror position to the other as she dangles, and Luke makes the final tie to the rope holding the bound leg. “But understood it as we do.”_ _

__Luke turns his attention to the second leg, making a slack tie several inches above the ankle, which straightens the leg in contrast to her other bent leg. He brings the end of the rope around the beam several times._ _

__“As a source of wisdom...”_ _

__He adjusts the ties here and there, until he brings the end of the rope around the ropes that stream down from the beam, pulling them together, bending Mara’s straightened knee in the process. The last of the rope he uses to pull her hair up to the top of her head, winding the end of the rope around it, a crude tie that pulls her head up._ _

__“A regenerative pool from which to draw strength.”_ _

__Luke takes a step back. She looks like a netted butterfly. Dangling on her side, the bend of her knees, one above the other, the angles of her shelved elbows and shoulders play against the curves of her hips, her bottom, her breasts. It’s more than shapes, the black rope's lines stark against the pale of her skin -- now flushed -- the rich crimson of her hair, her lips, the dark softness of her eyes._ _

__He so rarely gets the opportunity to simply stare at her like this. Time, yes, but it’s also not in his wife’s nature to let herself be looked at for long. Even here, the process, being secured, moved, touched, appeals to her more than ending as a gorgeous tableau. He might understand why, but for himself the process and ends are not that clear cut. Staring at her like this isn’t that different from the feeling he gets from staring at starlines. Dizzying, terrifying even, but only if you think of yourself as unmoving, unmoved, utterly still. He draws close to stroke the side of her face with the back of his hand. He's never that.__

__“...and a way to move objects without touching them,” she finishes._ _

__Luke meets her eyes when they seek his, draws a sweeping caress down her shoulder and over her breast. She closes her eyes, tilting her face up further. All of her is a marvel.__

 _ _He murmurs, “Start over.”_ _

__“They-they.” Her voice is unsteady as he lowers his hand to her middle, fingers skittering across her belly, past her navel. “Heard the,” she breaks off with a shuddering gasp when he reaches her wet core, slides his fingers in her slick before moving them up to her clit. “Call --the call,” her voice grows shakier still, she shifts in her bindings, a half turn. That’s part of the appeal, not just the tableau, but the contrast in the motion too, the struggle as she twists, and the slow float when she stops moving. She is never truly still._ _

__“From the--from the--” She lets out a moan, attempts to regroup, find her place as his fingers keep working her over in insistent, tight circles, and there’s the sound of rope going taut as she arches into her climax with a breathy cry. He waits until she goes slack to scan the rope and points of tension, checking if he needs to adjust any of the lines. Satisfied, he turns back to her. He ducks his head to kiss her, and it’s something else to taste her yearning here._ _

__“Start over,” he says after he pulls away._ _

__“They heard.” He steps between her legs, stroking from calf to thigh and she breaks off with a shaky intake of breath. “The call.” Another hissing breath as he crouches to brush his lips across the side of her knee. “From the--” He drops to his knees, brings his head between her thighs, her skin warm and damp by his cheek. She smells like pleasure, the vertiginous, excessive sort of moments like this. Luke nuzzles her curls, spreads her gently for a languorous lick from her entrance to her clit, mindful that she might still be too sensitive from her last climax._ _

__He runs his tongue over her lightly, ascertaining spots that please rather than overwhelm. The state she’s in is a wonder. This hyper-responsive, it won’t take much to wring another orgasm out of her, and maybe another, to tap into her energy, transform it into pleasure. It takes a few seconds for her voice to start up again, “From the--” Luke anchors her with a hand on her hip, tongue stroking against her as she moans. He lingers, his free hand stroking the curve of her bottom, tongue tracing the seam of her thigh, flattening across her entrance, sweeping in, lapping at the sensitive skin below it. He brings his thumb lower, teasing between her ass cheeks, feeling her body bend in the ropes. Her thighs press against his face muffle her moans. He hears them as if at a distance, knows from how wet she is, from the cant of her hips that she’s close again, teetering along the edge, and all it takes is for him to inch up a little, not even all the way to her clit, but close, lips applying soft suction. It’s enough to push her over. He’d known it would be.__

Mara cries out when the wave of her climax breaks. He wipes his face with his sleeve and stands, giving her no time to collect herself before reaching to thrust two fingers inside her, a quick withdraw and another hard thrust, then another. She cries out again, arching in the ropes, trying to shift her hips for more leverage, already chasing the next orgasm, knowing that he’ll give it to her. Mara’s moans edge to desperation, a visceral need to climax again, ride the sensations even higher rushing through her sense as her inner muscles clench tight, moisture dripping down his hand, the recitation completely and utterly forgotten. A well-timed, gentle stroke of his thumb across her clit, and her head snaps back, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in a soundless ‘o’. Tremors wrack her body as her thighs clamp down around his hand. 

__When she relaxes, he eases his fingers out, brings the hand at her hip to her lower back in a stabilizing touch. They're done with this now. The longer it takes, the higher the risk, and Luke doubts Mara is in any mental state to judge if the rope has shifted to a dangerous place._ _

__Luke goes to undo the binding in her hair, undoes the tie wrapped around the other ropes holding her legs and chest harness, slowly releases the bindings on the legs as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. She’s unsteady on her feet when she is on the ground, and he draws on the Force to hold her upright as he undoes the leg binding._ _

__He lets go of his Force hold when he’s done, catches her as she teeters, her body slack, eyes on him in a dreamy open expression. Through the Force, Mara’s presence is bright, blinding, and Luke has to draw a centering breath so he can ignore the renewed intensity of his own wanting. He does pull her close, stroking down her back to her contented hum. More than that can wait. He gently pulls away, an arm still around her to steady her. She reaches for him and he allows himself one kiss to her lips, before pulling away, not quite trusting himself. It’ll be better if they wait until they’re done._ _

__He tightens their bond next. Mara’s mentioned she doesn’t need it, but he feels more comfortable this way, giving her a direct line of access to himself, tracking her Force presence from up close as a precaution. There’s no way around the ease in which what they do could switch from ecstatic loss of self to violation. At this point her sense is wide open, kaleidoscopic in its buzz, and it’s simple, pushing her back, letting his own presence overwhelm her mind. Not too different from taking the flight controls, in a manner of speaking, while keeping her in the navigator’s seat. There is no resistance._ _

__It can’t be comfortable to be shut out of your own body that way, but past the instinctive reaction at the beginning of these evenings she’s never protested. She’s argued the resistance is only instinct, no different from shielding one’s eyes from the sun or startling at a noise. All the same, building up to this is another precaution. His hold on her is never that hard to break either. That is another. He likes thinking of it as a tight embrace._ _

__Luke begins simply, just sitting her down in efficient precise movements. Her body is worn, tired from the relentless intensity of before. He can shift that too, infuse her with a rush of energy, but decides that is too crude for now._ _

__The absent look in her eyes is not appealing, so he has her close them. In all honesty, this is not the kind of thing he’d choose in any situation, but he’s drawn enough pleasure for himself, and Mara wants this; something about it both shocks and soothes her. Her Force presence, woven tightly along his through the bond, runs like ink on flimsy, burns with the incandescent gleam of glassblown crystal._ _

__It’s not really the sex he thinks, as he has her bend her head back and run her hands down her neck. He could have her do drills until exhaustion and the result might be the same. This moment. There’s a faint protest from Mara’s side in his mind at that. She doesn’t agree. If the body is a bridge she wants it to be a bridge in just this way, in something this sacred, just between them. She wants to open herself just this way._ _

__He has her hand drift down slowly from her shoulder to her wrist._ _

__She inhales. Or her body does, a purely physical reaction. He repeats the caress with her other hand on her other arm, touch light enough to draw goosebumps. It’s what he does when they do this. Luke has her hand reach up and push the sweat soaked strands of her hair back, section it into three portions, her agile fingers bringing one under the other in a motion he's seen her perform countless times. Any more than this feels too strange, and even now there’s still a vague twinge of it. But there is Mara’s response from where she is, enfolded within his own sense of self, a feeling of this meeting some deep-seated craving. She'd put it into words after that first time._ _

__“This was never done to me.”__

__Her head had been pillowed on his chest, but he still had to strain to hear her. “The semblance of free will was always there. I don’t... I never realized there was no choice, that the same power I held could be used to make me do...anything. I might have known, but not consciously.” Her voice had faded for a time and he’d simply held her. She’d been more reflective about her past since Ben, more candid._ _

__“I must have. Ever...,” she'd spoken as if working out a puzzle. “Ever since I was fourteen. I would think of...not just holding another’s power within me...but being...held by it.” She’d swallowed. “Completely.”_ _

__There'd been revulsion in her sense, shame, and he’d held her tighter. One didn’t choose the scar tissue that formed over wounds any more that one chose the wrongs perpetrated against one in the first place._ _

__“Maybe that was why I kept my distance. From you. Later. When...when I figured it out. Because it had mixed, blended...with other things, impulses, as I grew older. And because I knew you could give that to me. Because I felt I shouldn’t want... but it was just a matter of time before I asked for it. I thought...I thought you might think less of me.”_ _

__He wouldn't have, but he might have had more reluctance if she’d broached it earlier when they hadn’t known each other as well, more out of fear at the precariousness of it._ _

__And watching her methodically braid her hair, that precariousness is what he sees, but even that has intertwined with other things. Despite not wanting her like this, his body still responds to the display, the weight of too many bliss-soaked memories behind it. It's no secret why; he’s made her mirror herself. If she wants to play marionette, he tries for her movements to be as true to life as possible. Anything other than that is too unsettling._ _

__Mara’s Force sense is all invitation._ _

__He’s fine where he is._ _

___Luke undresses as she finishes the braid. They’ve discussed this at length, Mara stating plainly that him seeking his pleasure at this juncture appeals to her, but they don’t coincide along this end. He'd rather wait for her, and crouches by her sitting form, what she's entrusted to him. Finished with the braid, Luke has her lower her hands to her sides. He takes the palm closest to his and brings it to his lips, leans forward and brushes a kiss by her temple.___

Within him, he feels Mara slide away from his clasp and into control over herself. She raises her head and her eyes open, shining, as she reaches for him. The vague desire in him solidifies as she leans in to kiss him. He’s rarely thinking at this point, he just wants her, absolutely certain that _this_ is how. 

Taking has many forms, now it’s a kiss, familiar, and unknowable, and he wants, wants, wants all that she offers, everything. Sliding a hand, up the smooth expanse of her outer thigh, he thinks, he'll take all of it. Her sense rings out with humor as if to say _you have it already_. She shifts her legs for him to settle between, pulls his mouth down to hers. _You'll always have it_. 

__Mara's arms come around him tightly as he pushes in. Heavy-lidded eyes stare up at him, green fringe around inky black, impossible depths. It feels like falling. Her hands clutch at him as she arches her back, wraps her legs around his waist as he moves within her. It feels like being held in place, bound within her so tightly he finds himself again. Holding onto her, he gasps as his climax hits, the intensity of it far larger for the reverberation of hers, an absolute dissolution. After that, he doesn't know._ _

__At some point later, Luke is on his side, Mara in his arms, her own still slung around him. She inhales and kisses his chest. He settles back, pulling her half over him._ _

__It’s a few minutes before she speaks, her voice frayed, her Force presence blinding, yet as tranquil as water from a brook._ _

__“Travesty of a dress.”_ _

__“The back,” he says, drawing the word out with a tired smile as he rubs a hand between his wife's shoulder blades. He regrets nothing._ _

__“Too short and a complete nightmare to put on," she chides hoarsely. “Also you left it on me for what, twenty minutes? If that. Han gave me a ride over --"_ _

"The lack of underwear was _your_ idea -- wait,” he gasps out an incredulous laugh, tilting his head to look down at her. "Han gave you a ride over? What happened to your speeder?” 

__Mara blows out an exasperated breath and lifts her head, her hair a damp mess around her face. “Han and _Jacen_ on their way to pick up Jaina. Turbine issue. It was too late to change by then, and I didn't want to take public transport.”_ _

__He snickers. “You mean too late to put underwear back on.”_ _

__“Most uncomfortable ride of my life -- even with a cloak on. I’m never doing that again. Never.”_ _

He would have been disappointed, but he was too busy chortling. “Good thing you can shield like a Jedi _master_. Where'd you leave the cloak?” 

__“In the outer reception area with my shoes. Never again,” she grumbles. “Nearly blew my cover too.”_ _

__“Which was?” Luke asks, still laughing._ _

__“The discretion cover is dance studio, isn’t it?” He feels her shrug. That’s another advantage to Coruscant. Discretion covers are par for the course in all spheres. They’re not even that expensive. “I told him we were doing a refresher course for the millions of functions we’ll have to attend now that we’re back. Of course he ended up wondering why I’d cover the dress up with a cloak. It’s warm out.”_ _

__“What’d you say?”_ _

__“The truth. Privacy and...that I hadn’t had time to get one since I was dealing with the move and left it up to you. I was just sparing him and the wide populace.” There's a Mara smile in her tone._ _

Luke makes a sharp noise of protest. She and his sister greatly exaggerate. His taste in clothing is _fine_. 

__Mara shifts ever so slightly and groans, giving up. “I don’t want to move.”_ _

__Luke pats her back sympathetically. He doesn't either. This might be another reason why they don’t do this often. This will wipe them out for the rest of the night, and they’ll probably feel some of it tomorrow, especially Mara.__

 _ _"I got us a room downstairs -- the hotel thirty floors down. We can at least make it to the turbolift and out of it to the room before tomorrow...Maybe.”_ _

Mara chuckles. She presses her forehead against his chest and sighs, sense thrumming with satisfaction. "I love --"

"Oh, it was nothing."

"Coruscant," she finishes.

He lifts his head, sending a mock glare her way.

She nestles even closer with a low laugh, and he tightens his arms around her. “We're going to need our things though. We have that meet and greet brunch at the Senate Hall tomorrow.” 

__Luke grins. He's certain he thought of everything. “You don’t need to. I packed our bags. We’re closer from here and Ben is at Han and Leia’s for the night. We can have a long breakfast for once.”_ _

__Her sense is like a warm pool, he closes his eyes, happy to soak in it._ _

__A tiny barely perceptible ripple filters out a split second before she startles, even if she doesn’t move from where she is, her voice muffled. “Wait, you didn’t pack...what I’d wear to the brunch, did you?”_ _

He smiles. 

__“Oh no,” she says._ _


End file.
